


Vomit

by GoldFlakes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Comfort, Cuddling, Cute, Established Relationship, F/M, Oneshot, Sickfic, lance is sick, pidgance, pidge is grumpy but caring, plance, they're married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 00:22:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15400851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldFlakes/pseuds/GoldFlakes
Summary: Pidge takes care of her sick husband





	Vomit

Pidge rolls over in bed, expecting to feel a familiar weight beside her. She reaches out, fingers splaying on the sheets as she searches for her husband's lanky form.   
"Lance?" She calls, blinking in the darkness. She watches the curtains drift idly in the window across the bed. The moon is full, sending a soft glow of light across the floorboards. She sits up, stepping into her lion slippers before she shrugs on her green silk night robe. She leaves the room, searching for Lance. She calls out to him, shivering in the hallway. When did it get so cold? She ties her robe tighter around her waist before she adjusts the thermostat and turns on the heat. Lance is not normally as sensitive to the cold as she is, so she usually ends up waking up in the middle of the night to turn up the heat. He complained that their heating bill was over 600$, and then she would remind him that she was a doctor and made more than enough to cover their expenses. Sometimes she would make a remark that if Lance actually knew basic math he would know that.   
She wonders where he is now. She checks the bathroom on the second floor where she doesn't find Lance, but something brown and chunky in the bathtub. At first she wonders if their dog Rover had an accident, but as she squints and rubs her eyes she realizes it's too watery to be poop. It smells more like vomit. So either Lance or rover is somewhere around the house, sick. She sighs, turning on the faucet to flush it all down the drain. She catches a glimpse of her reflection in the vanity mirror on the medicine cabinet. Her short hair is wild and scruffy, like a bush on her head. Her brows are soft and unplucked, and her cheeks are still a bit broken out from last night's pizza night with Lance and Hunk. Still, she looks like herself, and in this moment her insides match her outsides.   
She looks in all the other rooms on the floor and finds no sign of Lance. She finds Rover sleeping at the top of the steps, curled peacefully in the little bed Allura made for him. He doesn't look sick, but then again it's dim in the hallway and Pidge isn't wearing her glasses. She trudges down the steps groggily. It isn't like Lance to just leave without at least leaving her a message or a sticky note or something. Is he still in the house? She turns on a lamp in the living room and lets it flood the space with light. She is greeted yet again with a beautiful puddle of brown chunk. She makes a face. It's all over the nice Persian rug Coran gave them as a wedding present. She sighs, scratching her stomach. She runs a hand through her disaster hair. She does not have the energy or the stomach to deal with this right now. Slinking off to the kitchen, she decides to clean it up with some paper towels from under the sink. She's so grumpy about the whole thing she almost misses the third and final puddle by the fridge.   
"Are you kidding me?" She grunts. "This better not be Lance's throw up because he does not have an excuse to vomit in three different places and not tell me or clean any of it up-"  
As she's mumbling angrily to herself, she looks across the floor and sees a familiar bony brown ankle popping out from behind the counter. Suddenly she feels bad. He must be really sick to throw up so much, and then to lie on the kitchen floor. She cleans up the vomit by the fridge and on the rug then goes over to dote on him.  
He looks miserable, curled up on the floor, sweating and trembling in nothing but his dark blue boxers and mismatched socks. She crouches by him, taking in the damage.  
"Lance, baby. Are you awake?"  
He is dramatic by nature, and this quality is even further emphasized in his illness. He moans. She pulls him up to rest against his chest.   
"Geez Lance, you're burning up."  
"Ugh," he says. "Can you carry me to the couch?"  
"You're too big, you big dummy. Why don't you come back to bed?" She asks.  
"Don't want to get you sick."  
"Yeah, it's a little late for that."   
She runs her fingers through his hair as he sags against her.   
"Sorry I threw up everywhere," he says.  
"It's... Not your fault. I'll clean it up. Can you stand?"  
He tries to make himself heavier purposely, dropping all his dead weight on her.  
"You're squishing me you giant string bean. Get up so I can help you back to bed."  
He latches his arms around her back and rests his head on her shoulder.  
"If you want to cuddle we can do it in bed. Okay?"  
He pouts as she tugs him away to stand up.  
"I'll help you up. Okay?"  
She helps him to his feet, resting a gentle hand on his back to steady him. She takes him back upstairs and leads him to the bathroom.   
"I'm going to clean you up. Sit on the side of the bathtub," she commands. He complies, settling himself on the edge of the cool porcelain. She wets a washcloth in the sink with warm water and a bit of soap.  
"Hold still," she says, turning to the sickly man sitting on the edge of their bathtub. She presses the cloth to his jaw, dabbing at any remains of vomit. She cleans his face, holding his jaw with her free hand. He gazes at her softly, crystal blue eyes fluttering in his sleepy state. His chin feels rough with the early re-emergence of stubble.   
"When did you start feeling sick?" She asks him.  
She presses her hand to his forehead. "You're so hot."  
"I know," he smirks.  
"Lance, I'm serious. When did this start?"  
He sighs. "I don't know. Sometime last night maybe? It wasn't this bad before."  
"You should have told me."  
"It's fine- now you know," he says.  
She sighs, setting the wash cloth in the sink.  
"Do you think you're going to throw up again?"  
"I don't have anything left in me to throw up," he says.  
"I'm still going to take a bucket to bed with us, just in case."  
"Yeah, okay."  
She retrieves a bucket from the pantry downstairs and then comes back upstairs to take Lance back to bed. He lies down on the left side of the bed where she sets the bucket on the floor."  
"Just lean over it if you feel like throwing up again," she says. She crawls into bed next to him. He moves to cling onto her, wrapping his arms around her waist and snuggling his face into her stomach. She chuckles softly, wrapping both her arms around his back as he tangles his legs in hers.  
"You're the only one I'd get gross and sick for," she whispers as she pulls him close.


End file.
